


Obrigado!

by orphan_account



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: JOKES MAYBE NOT, M/M, i can hear u all screaming at me to make up my mind, maybs some angst actually, pure fluff i think, righto im getting there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 01:14:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16460648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Back, hurry back,Hurry back, hurry back.Please, bring it back home to me because you don't know what it means to me."





	Obrigado!

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys its ur friendly orphan here that had a tough night and decided to vent through a fictional andrew siwicki in high school. i hope you guus like this and i know theres no PHYSICAL gandrew, but i think its kinda cute,  
> (chips means fries, sorry im not from the US)  
> also in tradition of my works, this hAS NOT Been edited.

The air was cold on Andrew’s toes, he’s foolishly decided to throw on flip-flops before running out the door. Well — he hadn’t exactly been running, he’d planned his escape thoroughly. Grabbed the novel he had to finish for his Lit class, took his phone on six percent to hotspot his laptop, headphones wrapped around his neck. Personal hoodie thrown over school uniform. 

He’d been frightened running up his street in the dark, it was summer yet the nights were still always so dark. He was almost eighteen but still felt his hands tense into fists whenever a car with tinted windows crept past him on the darkened street. Better to be safe than sorry, that was his moto. 

Andrew sits cross-legged on some playground equipment, the children’s section tucked away in the far corner of his local park. It only took two minutes to walk up the hill to reach it. It was eerily silent except for the screeching of sneakers and the slap of basketballs on polished floors in the facility shadowing the field of yellowing grass.

He doesn’t feel safe sitting here, in the darkness, there are lights in the distance of shops and even family houses. Andrew looks at them and wishes with all his heart that he could transfer himself into one of those cosy, warm and welcoming homes. With supporting parents and gentle older brothers. 

It wasn’t fair.

Wasn’t fair that his parents didn’t give him a choice, didn’t allow him to choose which life he wanted to lead. He’d tried to explain to them how he felt, who Garrett was, what he meant to Andrew. Wasn’t fair that they didn’t the mere idea of him hanging out with the ‘gay’ of their school. It was disgusting. It angered Andrew so deeply, so furiously, that he decided he’d had enough of their bullshit. He wasn’t going to put up with it anymore.

There had been a buzzing in his blood, the vein in his neck had shown itself; true fury. Andrew had shoved, aggressively shoved, his dinner plate at the floor. Had found himself pleased when he could hear his mother’s gasp over the smashing of glass against tiles. Had found himself not giving a single shit at the bellowing of his red-faced father, or the way his words reverberated in his ear drums. 

He’d popped into his room quickly to grab a few things and slammed the front door behind him before their needy, punishment-desperate hands could reach the baggy fabric of his hoodie.

He’d never run away before, he still wasn’t sure that jogging up to their local oval could be labelled as running away. Wasn’t sure if the nervousness in his chest was from fear of being kidnapped, unlikely, or rebellion against his unworthy parents. 

Still he proudly walked past the gym doors, they’d still been open at nine at night. He’d peeked in and glanced at the calves of the young men inside, momentarily feared that they could see him through the darkness, wasn’t sure if the light from inside illuminated him too — and ran away towards the playground.

The air was cold on his fingers when Andrew tried to read the Lit book with the low light coming from the small building of the park’s unused locker rooms. When Andrew was younger it had been very active, he’d run up to the oval in his soccer boots on Saturdays and put his bag inside the grey cement building. It wasn’t tall enough to hold a bus, wasn’t big enough either.

They were the pros of a small community, Andrew decided. The closeness of everyone, the mutual feeling of; _this is all of ours, we share it with you, and you, and you share it with me, and them. And that’s just the way we like it._

Now the building had been abandoned, although no one had thought to turn the lighting system off. So Andrew used it to his advantage, he tilted the paged towards the oncoming glow, and squinted to read the small printed letters.

“Might as well go for a run while I’m here.” Andrew said aloud, quietly though (fear, remember) and mostly to the bats that flew overhead. They were black silhouettes against the lighter sky, it was oddly fascinating. They triggered Andrew into wondering what it would be like if he’d ever been good at drawing, whether or not he would’ve been able to capture the beauty of that image. Dark sharp wings against grey clouds on a mouldier grey-blue canvas. ‘ _Summer nights’_ , he’d call it, or even ‘ _Running away from homophobic parents’._

But running in the dark, barefoot (he could not run in flip-flops, that was a disaster waiting to happen), without being able to see any dog shit or pot holes beyond his toes. Sounded scarier than sitting out here alone.

His phone was on one percent. Andrew had been sitting here for half an hour — most of it spent not trying to read the stupid romance novel, but instead gazing into the sky with long arms wrapped around shivering shoulders. The knot of his tie was digging into his throat, he hadn’t been able to take it off before leaving. 

Lie. He had, he just hadn’t chosen to. He never took his uniform off until it was time for bed; which was right around now. Almost nine-thirty. 

Today had been a good day, Andrew thought. He’d spent first period at the chip shop down the street of their school, they weren’t allowed to skip, not even in twelfth grade. But that never stopped Garrett from dragging a reluctant Andrew by the elbow out the unguarded school gates. He’d probably get a talking for that, from their bitchy principal. 

Andrew had laughed so hard, and fucking loud, at Garrett he’d almost suffocated on a half-chewed chip. Then they’d decided to take the piss out of gym class in period two and ended up both hanging off the basketball hoops while the girls yelled at them — they’d wanted to take the chains off so they could resume their match of netball. The boys didn’t listen. Andrew’d most likely get a talking for that too.

A helicopter flew out from under the horizon blanket and over Andrew’s head. It reminded him of war; of what he’d always imagined it sounding like. Almost, not quite, not that gentle and reassuring, not that slow either. Andrew was glad he had’t been alive during the Second World War, he couldn’t even begin to imagine how his parents would take his homosexual coming out then.

It was getting late, thoughts of Garrett faded. The memory of his pure blue eyes crept back behind the curtains of his mind, the hypnotism of his laughing face walked itself away — to keep his heart safe. 

He was only on one percent. Had been for a while. He should probably head back. He didn’t feel angry anymore.

Andrew decided to sit there a little longer, he wanted to try and enjoy his time being alone. Andrew didn’t get that often in his household, not while his brother was the favoured child of their family (if his memory served him currently; his parents would clap for him almost every dinner, bit absurd) and he was now the shameful “faggot”. What a disgraceful word.

He cursed the summer uniform for forcing him to wear shorts, the chill had bitten at his skin long enough that they now felt numb. He could hear so many different sounds through the wind, there wasn’t just the rustling of leaves, there were imaginary murmuring voices too. There were bird infants communicating to their mothers, there were crickets screaming out from deep under the sun-dried grass, Andrew could hear the faint rhythm of Freddie Mercury’s _Love Of My Life._ It almost hurt him to recognise it, to know he’d memorised the lyrics when he was fourteen, had almost been willing to sing it to his best friend. He’d been so close.

Andrew remembers sitting up past his bedtime with the lyric sheet in his hands, it was ripped at the corner and had folding creased throughout it in all different directions. He’d always been a musical kid, had loved singing from a young age — even used to rap for his grandparents. He used to believe he’d be the next Eminem, except ginger. But this one was different, it had been learnt for an entirely different purpose, so he kept this particular song secret from everyone. 

_Love of my life, you’ve hurt me,_

They’d been in the middle of a fight. It was silly but at the time it had meant everything to their friendship.

_You’ve broken my heart and now you leave me._

Andrew felt the pain of that line like a deep cut, he had never understood.

_Love of my life can’t you see,_

Had never noticed.

_Bring it back, bring it back,_

Andrew breathed in.

_Don’t take it away from me because you don’t know what it means to me._

Out.

He was glad he never went through with trying to serenade him, the friendship mended itself back up by fate. They’d always meant to be together, to be close. And anyway, Garrett probably would have laughed at him.

Seconds ticked by softly in Andrew’s airs, time was passing quickly. The shadows had begun to close in on him, it was getting later and later.

_Ding!_

Andrew turned on the playground level and slid his hands continuously over the coated plastic in search of his phone. 

_Ding!_

Got it. 

_Ding!_

He’d received a text — multiple messages. This late at night? It was almost ten.

_Garebear: im feeling lonely :(_

Andrew’s heart thrashed back alive within his chest, there wasn’t a cure to it’s immediate excitement whenever Garrett Watts was brought into the picture. He stared down at the dull screen, trying to read the words slowly as if it would allow him to appreciate them more. Because by god, he fucking appreciated them all right.

_Garebear: come over??_

Andrew couldn’t say no. This was his ticket, his golden ticket from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. He was Charlie Bucket and Garrett was his Wonka, this request was his ticket. 

_Garebear: parents r out and ive evn got some snax ;)))_

Andrew’s first thoughts were; please be talking about your dick, please be your dick. Though when close reading Andrew discovered that he hadn’t been implying anything explicit at all, perhaps Garrett really did just want to have him in his company. He was more than fine with that — he was desperate for that. If that was all it was ever going to be, then so be it, that was still a dream come true. 

Andrew pushed his ass off the playground, he walked back onto the oval and didn’t notice that the sounds of sneakers on polish were now non-existence. Didn’t even think about the fact that half the people in his neighbour hood were now warmly tucked into their beds sleeping. He cast a long glance back towards the street leading towards his chaotic house, turning on his heels, and began walking the opposite direction.

Garrett’s was only a few minutes away. He could stand being afraid and vulnerable for that long. Especially for him.

**Author's Note:**

> can yall tell i was also heavily inspired by the new queen movie, bohemian rhapsody, because fuck i cried so many times during that film. it was just incredible - i appreciate freddie and his wonderful band more than ever now. i mean i thought i liked them before, but fuck after that picture, my heart hurts for them.   
> GO SEE IT. EVEN IFYOUVE NEVER HEARD A QUEEN SONG. WHICH IS UNLIKELY.


End file.
